


Disarm

by ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild



Series: The Agent and His Analyst [2]
Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: F/M, Fluffy, Post-Episode: s06e05 Black Budget
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 21:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16462568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild/pseuds/ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild
Summary: Because, if anyone is going to cop a feel, she better have red hair and her name better be Nell Jones.





	Disarm

 "I heard you got the VIP treatment." 

She is all graceful curves when she drops down onto his lap, straddling his hips, and settling her lovely rear on his thighs. One might think him unaffected but for the uncomfortable twitching of his hips, stuttering a beat against her couch cushions because _damn it_ , this woman will be the end of him. She offers him a quirky little grin and holds up two beers, necks caught between her fingers, one eyebrow raised in silent question. Despite the pinch of disdain that is all too obvious in his expression - because she is going to make damn sure he never lives this down - he takes a bottle from her, twisting the metal cap off with ease. 

"She took my gun. Here." he presses the open beer into her hand and takes the other one from her; his frown hardens into something more pinched and angry as he adds bitterly.

"And, my phone." 

The amber bottle tilts against her mouth, soft giggles resonating in the glass, and she swallows a long drag with little effort. He matches her easily but doubts he'll drink with quite the same zest that she employs when given liquor. Not that he couldn't, it's just, well, if he's honest, he's feeling a little bitter about being disarmed and groped by a woman half his size. Not that he didn't mind it when a beautiful woman decided to cop a feel, but in recent weeks, there is only one woman allowed to do so, and that is the pert little redhead on his lap. 

"It was her phone, G." Nell reminds him gently; her thumb rubs gentle circles between his brows, smoothing away lines of contempt. "What's the big deal? I've disarmed you before." 

Callen glowers. "It's different, Nell." 

"How?" 

He hooks a finger through the belt loop of her jeans and tugs her forward, pulling the soft, warmth of her body against him. Her hips unconsciously thrust forward against his and a gasp escapes her at the hardness she encounters. He takes her drink from her, bottles clinking together, as he leans forward and sets them on the coffee table before settling back and locking his arms around her body, keeping her tucked against him. 

"Because," his lips curl up into a grin and it's softer than the usual sexy, badass grin she's used too; the one that's dark and dangerous and filled with promises of things that will leave her sore but oh-so-satisfied. This time, he's softer and dare she say it, but there is a bit of tenderness in his eyes, something warm behind the ice cold facade he hides behind with other people - even Sam. "I let you disarm me. With her, I didn't have a choice." he pauses, a little cheekiness slipping through the crack in his armor as he adds. "Plus, if anyone's going to touch my ass, she better have red hair and her name better be Nell." 

"Good." 

She smiles and those cracks in Callen's armor seem to take on a familiar shape; one with curves and hazel eyes and a grin that could light up entire nations. This is what she does to him. She makes him feel open and vulnerable and able to bare his soul without facing judgement. He tells her things he wouldn't dream of telling anybody, not even Sam, and as much as he'd like to believe, she's tricked it out of him, he knows the truth. 

Nell Jones disarms him. 


End file.
